Not Quite Right
by Jack of the North
Summary: My first Snape/Hermione. He thought she was someone else, she thought he was what she needed. Kinda Marriage Law but its only briefly mentioned and is not really important to the story.


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_A/N I can only presume that this came from two days of readying nothing but SSHG. I have no idea where the actual idea came from, my sleep deprived mind I guess - its 2 in the morning. But I'm about to go to bed, when suddenly I think, 'Hey Lily and Hermione were really alike.' And so I started typing and I couldn't stop and all of a sudden hey, I have my first Snape fic. So I hope you enjoy it. _

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It shouldn't have been like this. It should never have had to come to this point. He had bared it all so stoically. When he had nothing left to give, barely the strength to live, he had found some hidden reserve just for her. Not for her really, not for Albus Dumbledore and certainly not for Harry Potter. He'd done it for her, the one he had lost. So like the stubborn bushy haired witch. They looked nothing alike, of course, and for that he was grateful. But in her manner, in her intelligence, in her need to sacrifice for the greater good, in the way she looked at Potter, everything about her shouted, 'Lily!'

He had seen it almost immediately, how could he not? The muggleborn too eager to learn and so naturally talented with everything she did. He'd been fascinated by her, at first and disgusted with himself for taking such interest in the girl on a purely personal level. Not like _that_, though, never like that. Even after they were married and she was his by law, he never saw her as that.

It nearly broke his heart to see her with Potter. How could she do it again? In her he saw Lily and he saw her make Lily's mistakes. He knew nothing good could come of her association with that boy, that family. The Potter men caused nothing but heartache and misery. He nearly crowed in delight when, over the years, she showed no interest in him. It was short lived, though, when her interest swayed from one imbecile to another, finally landing on Weasley. As if he was good enough for her.

When it was all over and changes started, he expected her to run to Wesley, happily enter into married bliss. But it hadn't gone down like that – the details were still sketchy after all these years – and she had instead turned to him. Him. As if he was good enough for her. His little Lily reincarnated.

He'd said no, of course he had. But her mind was set and she would not be swayed. He'd raged at her, ranted, even gone as far as to show her memories of his more villainous acts. But she'd stood there calmly and said yes. And when she looked at him like that how could he refuse her anything?

The others had been shocked, accusing him with everything from potions to brain washing to rape. And his wife – his wife – had stood by his side and calmly defending him. Her ire only rising when Ginny Weasley had muttered under her breath about, 'unfinished business.' She had raised her eyes and looked directly into his. And he knew that she knew. Potter had shared the memories with her and she had seen quite clearly what all the other had failed to.

But then they were gone, back to his dank and rundown house – not a home – in Spinner's End. And he had told her he was not a nice man, warned her that he would probably hurt her. And even as he claimed that he would be a horrible husband, his fingers had touched her with all the love and passion he had kept hidden, bottled, since he was old enough to know what it was.

And though his lips whispered, "Hermione," in his mind he was thrusting into her. Every wrong he had ever done Lily Evans, from name calling to sealing her death, washed away from his soul as he made gentle love to his wife. And when he was done, when he had spilled his seed inside her, he saw her for the first time and realised she was not Lily, nor would she ever be. And he felt like he was losing her all over again.

But in his loss came the surprising comfort of Hermione Granger – she'd kept her maiden name. In the quiet evenings they shared reading and her helping him in his potions lab. The awful meals she cooked them and in the way she would whisper his name in the middle of the night, her arms reaching out, searching for him. And he loved her in a way he could never love Lily because even when he had her, she was never truly his.

But he had not come out of twenty odd years of spying, treachery and torment unscathed, no man would. He would sink to the lowest depths of hell and not even the soothing touches of his eager young wife could touch him there. If their happy times were like pure sunshine then these drowning moments were like the blackest of a moonless night.

She struggled in vain against them until, eventually, she stopped fighting. He didn't think he had ever seen anything as horrendous as the day his spirited, tenacious Hermione stopped fighting. A light went out in her and nothing he did or said could reignite it. Not a new house, not the idea of a pet and not even when, as a last resort, he agreed to counselling and therapy, both singular and as a couple.

But the damage had been done. He had had her a handful of years and now she was gone. And as he watched her pack her bags, explaining calming that she would go and stay with Ron, he nearly wept. Because despite how hard she had tried, the sacrifices they had made and the love that had grown, even when he had her, she was never truly his.

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He was wearing charcoal pants and thin back sweater. He didn't care how hot it was outside; he wasn't going to parade around in a t-shirt or – Merlin forbid – shorts. He knew what she was doing. Though her actions were silent in their careful precision, he could imagine the soft scrape as she slid a volume off the shelf, the dull thud as she dropped them mere centimetres away from their destination. The boxes filled quickly with her innumerable tomes.

He imagined the walls of her study once she was done. They would be as bare as when they had first moved in but he had a feeling they would seem even more desolate because he knew how they should look. They should be covered with his wife's books. Her things should be scattered on her desk, lists drawn up with careful consideration should be tacked to her corkboard, their wedding photo hung next to her Order of Merlin, First Class. She should be watering the garden or getting dinner ready. She shouldn't be packing up her life into a dozen cardboard boxes.

She'd told him the night before, as if he didn't already know. As if he couldn't see it whenever she looked at him. The pain, the hurt, the determination. They loved each other fiercely but it wasn't enough. Not enough for her because he was never the undamaged, happy young man she deserved, not enough for him because she was never Lily.

Hermione was better than anyone he could ever have hoped or expected, she loved him, she would have been the mother to his children but there was always Lily hanging over them. Always the unspoken thought that she was not who he had been wanting. Something about her was slightly off to ruin the effect.

He walked slowly through their house until he came to the door to her study. He watched silently as she filled the last box and taped it up with Muggle Sellotape. He knew she knew he was there but he didn't trust himself to talk. She was still his wife and he still loved her. Though it pained him to let her go he knew that he must.

"It's not because I don't love you," she said at last, turning to him. "It was never that."

"Hermione, you don't need to explain to me that I'm a lost cause. I've known it for years."

"You're not a lost cause; you just... need someone else. You may have wanted me – for whatever reasons – but I'm not what you needed. I was selfish though, because you were what I needed. I needed you to want me, to pick me up, to let me pick you up. I needed to know your pain and make it better."

"Silly Hermione, you should have been a Hufflepuff," he said, though there was no malice in his voice. She blushed lightly and stepped into his side, nestling under his arm.

"I don't know who you need, Severus, but it isn't Lily Evans and it isn't Hermione Granger. Go and find a nice pureblood woman." She smiled to hide the pain at those words but her eyes betrayed her.

He cupped her cheek with the palm of his hand, his pale slender fingers burying into the edge of her mane of hair. She angled into his touch and he moved his hands around her waist and shoulders, pulling her to him. She inhaled the scent of potion's ingredients that clung to him constantly and buried her face against his chest.

"What about you?'" he whispered. "Who do you need?"

She pulled back, biting down on her lip, unsure of how much to say, how much to hide. Honesty with her husband had always been paramount, though and why should this last day be any different.

"I need a man who will laugh with me, give me children and love them the way they need to be loved."

The hurt flashed in his eyes before he could control it. He had always been adamant that he did not want children. That it wouldn't be fair for any child to have a father like him. Hermione had fought him on it, attempted to trick him into getting her pregnant but he would not yield on the matter and every morning at ten o'clock he diligently took his contraceptive potion.

With a wave of his wand and a silent spell all her boxes and suitcases assembled themselves in the kitchen, in front of the fireplace. He retrieved the dissolution papers and they silently signed them. In what seemed like a blink of an eye, it was all done. They were no longer married and she was packed and ready to go.

The need for her blazed hot and suddenly and she let out a gasp of shock as he grabbed her roughly and pulled her to him. His lips on hers for the last time was unlike anything they had experienced before. Though passion had never been absent, their gentle lovemaking didn't come close to the fireworks exploding between them now.

His lips worked deftly against hers, willing them open. His hands gripped her firmly, one resting under the thigh of the leg he had lifted against him, the other applying pressure against her back, pulling her in, securing her there. Not that it was needed. Her fingers clutched at his sweater, her hips ground into his.

And his tongue! His tongue was moving against hers, plunging, massaging, tasting, giving. Every bit of hurt, every bit of gratitude, his small amount of confusion and all his understanding poured into her until she could stand it no longer. With a pained cry, they broke apart, their breathing heavy.

"Go," he said and began sending her things through the fireplace to the Burrow. She stared defiantly at him until he reluctantly raised his eyes to meet hers. "Go," he whispered it this time. "Go find yourself a handsome young man who didn't spend most of his life in war. Go find someone who loves you for you."

She did not move, torn between her desire to comfort her now ex-husband and her own selfish desires for children and a happier life that raged inside her. She bit her lip again, tried to make herself go to him but she couldn't. Her decision was made and she couldn't, wouldn't go back on it. She had done everything she could for this man, made him see a life beyond Lily but she could do no more. She wasn't giving up, she was moving on.

He startled her by sucking in a tortured breath. "I swear to the Gods, Hermione, if you stand there and stare at me with those big brown eyes for a moment longer I won't be able to let you go."

She started at that but after a quick glance around to ensure everything important of hers was gone she picked up her hand bag and her wand and turned to the fireplace.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "That I couldn't be who you wanted. It wasn't always happy but I quite enjoyed being married to you. I have no regrets, I hope neither do you."

She threw the fistful of floo powder into the fireplace and watched the flames turn green. She lifted her foot to step through but quickly turned and placed another searing kiss on his lips. She hugged him, her lips finding her way to his ear.

Through her sudden tears she whispered harshly, "No woman could ever regret you."

And then she was gone and he was alone and though his heart ached and her scent still lingered, for the first time since he'd voiced the word 'mudblood' to the girl he loved, he felt free.


End file.
